Lime Broiled Catfish

The week after the launch and I am — I don't have the word. There isn't a word for the feeling of putting your dead mother's recipes into the world and watching the world receive them. Gratitude doesn't cover it. Pride doesn't cover it. The closest word is "enough." I feel enough. The book is enough. The recipes are enough. Mama is enough. And I — the woman who stood at a podium and made cornbread while crying — I am enough. For the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever, I feel enough.

The book is selling. Not explosively — this is a small press, not Penguin Random House — but steadily. Local bookstores in Atlanta are carrying it. Two churches in Decatur hosted cookbook signings. The food blogger in Birmingham — Cheryl — posted her full review and it's beautiful. She wrote: "This is not just a cookbook. This is a woman talking to her dead mother through seasoning and stories, and if that sounds like grief, it is. But it's also grace. And the cornbread recipe alone is worth the cover price."

At school, I showed Jordan the book. Not the whole thing — just the page about chicken soup. The recipe I used to make the thermos for him when he was living in a car. He read it and looked at me and said, "That's the soup you brought me." I said, "That's Mama's soup." He said, "Your mama took care of people." I said, "She did." He said, "You do too." I put that compliment in the same place I keep Curtis's "good pork" and Aaliyah's "I started here" and every other small declaration of worth that people have given me. The compliment drawer. It's getting full.

Made a quiet dinner: salmon, rice, roasted vegetables. The meal of a woman who has just done a big thing and needs a small thing. The meal of returning to normal after extraordinary. Curtis said, "The book is good." THE BOOK IS GOOD. Sixth unqualified compliment. I'm framing it. I'm framing all of them.

I didn’t want anything complicated that night — no slow braises, no recipes that required my full attention. I needed something that would let me just stand in my kitchen and breathe. Catfish with lime felt right: bright but not fussy, real but light, the kind of fish that doesn’t ask anything of you. This is the meal I make when I’ve just given everything I have to something that mattered, and now I need my kitchen to give a little back.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 catfish fillets (about 6 oz each), patted dry
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon lime zest
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon onion powder
2 tablespoons fresh cilantro or flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped, for garnish
Lime wedges, for serving

Instructions

Preheat the broiler. Set your oven broiler to high. Line a broiler pan or rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil and lightly coat with cooking spray or a brush of olive oil.
Make the lime marinade. In a small bowl, whisk together the lime juice, olive oil, minced garlic, lime zest, smoked paprika, salt, pepper, and onion powder until combined.
Coat the fillets. Arrange the catfish fillets in a single layer on the prepared pan. Spoon or brush the lime mixture generously over the tops and sides of each fillet, reserving about 1 tablespoon for basting.
Broil the catfish. Place the pan 4 to 6 inches from the broiler element. Broil for 8 to 10 minutes, basting once halfway through with the reserved marinade, until the fish is opaque throughout, slightly charred at the edges, and flakes easily when tested with a fork. You do not need to flip the fillets.
Rest and serve. Remove from the oven and let rest for 2 minutes. Scatter fresh cilantro or parsley over the top and serve immediately with lime wedges alongside rice and roasted vegetables.

Nutrition (per serving)

Lime Broiled Catfish — The Meal of Returning to Normal After Extraordinary